


Have You Tried Sleeping?

by The_Fictionist_Aura



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels having Nightmares, Aziraphale Just Doesn’t Know What’s Happening, But That’s Crowley Is Here For, Comfort, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Dreams, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pining, This Feels Like Crack But It’s Not?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-05-31 12:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19426396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fictionist_Aura/pseuds/The_Fictionist_Aura
Summary: "Hot chocolate.  Lemon. Sugar.  Ink. Really old leather.Sniff.Was that cornstarch?“Aziraphale…” he muttered.  And then he called out.  “Aziraphale!”The footsteps paused.“Don’t turn on the lights!”He contemplated going to sleep.  Maybe the angel had left a book behind the last time he visited and desperately needed to read it right now.At 2:30 AM.Plausible, he thought, his head already turning back into his pillow and his eyes closing comfortably.  He would find his book somewhere in the desk or chair and leave.  And then Crowley could go back to his dream about that bright tropical garden he was busy having.That was most definitely what was going to happen."A prolonged nightmare comfort one-shot-ish.





	1. Chapter 1

Sleep was a grand thing. Crowley didn’t really understand why some humans hated it so much. They got to lay on a soft plushy surface for several hours a day and do absolutely nothing - and sometimes dream of really pleasant things like ice cream or not doing taxes. It was glorious really. 

Since Crowley didn’t actually need sleep though, he never had problems either falling asleep or getting up. Either way, he was refreshed. It was a great way to pass time before appointments where he couldn’t think of anything to do or his angel actually was busy for once. It was also a thing to do between the hours of 1:30 AM - 5:30 AM since not much was usually happening - at least out on the streets. 

So when the demon woke up at 2:30 AM at the rather heavy sound of his front sliding door opening and faint footsteps, he did not need to wipe his eyes clear of that nasty eye discharge humans tended to get from long periods of non-blinking existence. He also didn’t need to turn on a light since his yellow eyes naturally adjusted the darkness of the windowless concrete walls. Instead, he turned his head to face the ceiling.

He didn’t get up from the bed. The black velvet sheets were far too comfy to risk changing his position for any old intruder. And he had a spray bottle of holy water in the bottom drawer of the left nightstand. Or was it the right?

Instead, he flared his nose as he took a deep smell of the place. His head sunk deeper into the sheets as he filled his lungs.

Hot chocolate. Lemon. Sugar. Ink. Really old leather. 

_ Sniff. _

Was that cornstarch? 

“ Aziraphale…” he muttered. And then he called out. “Aziraphale!” 

The footsteps paused. 

“Don’t turn on the lights!”

He contemplated going to sleep. Maybe the angel had left a book behind the last time he visited and desperately needed to read it right now. 

At 2:30 AM. 

Plausible, he thought, his head already turning back into his pillow and his eyes closing comfortably. He would find his book somewhere in the desk or chair and leave. And then Crowley could go back to his dream about that bright tropical garden he was busy having. 

That was most definitely what was going to happen. 

With his eyes closed, he started breathing deeply and felt the weight of sleep about to hit him when the footsteps started again. Instead they were running now. Passed the main room with the desk and chair, passed the bedroom and further down the hall. 

Crowley frowned into his pillow. 

The footsteps were barefoot. He could hear the faint squeeze of sweaty feet against the floor with each hurried step. 

Aziraphale hated going barefoot - at least since the invention of modern footwear. At the invention of the sandal, Crowley distinctly remembered that the angel had gotten his hands of 14 pairs of the things. A rotation of footwear for two weeks - just in case. He even still wore the blasted things on the beach. How did he stand the sand bits getting int-

The sound of a fridge door slamming open echoed through the apartment.

Crowley sighed. He finally sat upright, still frowning in the darkness. “Are you eating?!” He continued to yell in the general direction the footsteps had headed. He swung his legs over the left side of the bed while simultaneously throwing his blanket away from his body. The cool air was crisp on his bare legs - but not for long. “You know I don’t have much food there!” 

As he projected his voice, he slid his feet into the plain black slippers he kept by his bed. On the nearest nightstand was his silk robe he was fond of wearing whenever he was relaxing around his place. He slipped it on quickly, not wanting to walk out to the kitchen in his underwear if there was indeed an unwelcome intruder. 

“Ignore the milk!” He pulled harshly on the robe tie. “I got into a weird milk phase. Unless you like oat milk I suppose.”

Lastly he pulled out the bottom drawer and gingerly pulled out the green spray bottle of holy water. Though he seriously doubted there was a demon that starched their clothes; better safe than sorry. Holding the bottle abnormally far away from the front of his body, he started creeping out of the room and down the hall, towards the kitchen. He could see the light from the fridge pooling into the hall and the loud clinking of someone fumbling around the bottles in the fridge. 

“I’ve got goat milk too. I got so weirded out by all the milk. Soy milk, goat milk, they got so much damn milk! It’s worse than the bread thing honestly. The toast, the rolls…” When his outstretched hands reached the kitchen doorway, Crowley stuck out the spray bottle even further and hissed before popping his head in. His body had taken the stance on someone about to shoot a loaded gun. 

A startled looking Aziraphale looked back at him, with a can of sparkling water in one hand and the fridge door in the other. 

“You shouldn’t be handling that!” The angel exclaimed. He threw the can back in the fridge before snatching the spray bottle away from the demon. Giving him a disapproving look, Aziraphale headed over to the kitchen counter directly next to the fridge. As he walked away, the fridge closed, leaving the only light in the kitchen from the ceiling tall window that was on the wall directly opposite the door way. The moon light lit a small portion of the floor and Crowley’s face, which had a confusion expression plastered on it. 

“Well then answer me when I'm talking to you!” Crowley shook his head, as if shaking his head violently would solve the mystery to this late night visit. “What are you doing here, angel?” 

To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale did not miracle the light on but rather stayed where he was in the darkness on the other side of the fridge. He could see that the other being had started fidgeting nervously with his hands. He was looking down at them. Crowley couldn’t see his face properly. 

“I just...thought I would stop by for a drink.”

“At 2:30 in the morning!?”

“Well...you know I don’t like sleeping - ”

“Yes, yes. You always go on and on about how I sleep too much,” Crowley groaned in response. “But you could have called. I would have dug up some wine or something from downstairs.” He jerked his left thumb over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ve got some red vintage around somewhere. I can go get it now if you fancy.” 

“No. No. I erm. I just wanted...the lovely drink I was holding before.” Aziraphale opened the fridge again, the light luminating his face from a low angle. He reached in and pulled out the drink he had thrown in a moment ago. “Yes, ah. La Croix lemon.” His eyes looked over the wording on the can for what looked like the first time.

Crowley started frowning again. 

“Yes. I just really wanted sparkling water and thought I would come in quickly, take some and be on my way without disturbing you.” He looked up from the can and smiled at Crowley. 

“But you always have sparkling water. You’re the reason I have the blasted stuff anyway.”

“I ran out.”

“You had half a fridge full when I left your place last night.” Crowley countered, now leaning again the doorway and crossing his arms across his chest. 

Aziraphale shrugged, which just made Crowley’s frown deepen and his eyes raise further and further up his forehead. “Customers get thirsty you know.” 

Crowley was about to ask exactly how many customers does one have between the hours of 8:30 PM to 2 in the morning when the angel quickly started speaking again. “Anyways, it seems I have woken you. So sorry, Crowley. I know how you like your sleeping. I’ll just be off and we can see each other another time. Bye!” 

Before another breath could be drawn, the angel had miracled himself out of the apartment and Crowley was left perplexed. He stepped over and looked into his fridge curiously. There were some La Croix in the back top shelf, since the demon himself never drank the stuff. All his assorted milks and three bottles of chilled vodka were askew, as if there had been a frantic hand reaching in the fridge just earlier, trying to find something to grab. 

Odd it was, Crowley thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This fluff piece came into my head -THIS IS SO CLICHE BUT I DON’T CARE BECAUSE GOOD OMENS IS SO GAY - tbcccc


	2. Chapter 2

Lunch was their usual weekly appointment. Every Thursday at noon. The Ritz had become a favorite. So much so that Crowley had demanded that at least once a month they try a different place for lunch or just try a different meal altogether.

He liked brunch, mainly for the mimosas. 

Aziraphale had reluctantly agreed. And so the angel always called Crowley 24 hours before the appointment to verify where they would be going, if Crowley was going to be late picking him up, if Crowley needed any shopping done before or after so that Aziraphale could bring reusable shopping bags since he knew the demon would not, etc, etc. 

The sparkling water incident had happened Monday morning. It was now Thursday morning around 11:30 and Crowley had not heard anything from the angel all week. He had tried to stop by the bookshop Monday night but as soon as he got out of his car, the door sign had changed to “Closed”. Crowley had tried opening the door but had found it oddly stuck. It took him three minutes to decide not to break the door and to just wait until Thursday to figure out just what was going on.

So here he was now, standing by his desk, staring at his answering machine as if he hadn’t been idling near his phone for the last hour, waiting for a call. 

He had thought it odd not getting a phone call from his angel the day before but had thought just maybe, he actually had an influx of customers that he had decided to help. Just maybe. 

But it was near noon and still nothing. 

“Not even a voicemail.” He mumbled. “He always leaves voicemail.”

He drummed his nails against the desktop absentmindedly. Taking the Bentley out at this point would make him late since he would have to stop for gas on the way over. And Aziraphale greatly disliked when he was late. Disliked as far as an angel goes, which for Aziraphale was to aggressively scold him when he arrived about being punctual and how not being punctual showed a person’s lack of respect for someone else’s time - even if it was all eternity - for 15 minutes before continuing with the rest of the day in his usual high spirits. 

If he miracled over, he wouldn’t be late. And Aziraphale would have less of an opportunity to run away or glue the door shut. 

Putting on his sunglasses, Crowley took a breath and the next one he took was from behind a pillar in a very familiar book shop. He had chosen the far back on purpose, knowing that that desk Aziraphale loved so much was near.

Indeed, he could smell that inky smell and heard the fine scratching of pen against paper from his hiding place. Moving his forehead from resting on the pillar, he tilted his body to the side and peeked out at the open circle of space that was a common haunt for both beings. 

Aziraphale’s back was to him but it was indeed his owly head that seemed to be nose deep on writing something or other. Crowley wrinkled his nose in displeasurement. He hated writing. And reading really. The television was where it was at, though he would never stop his friend from his literature rampages and lectures when they were together. At least until they became more than 72 hours long which happened once when Aziraphale ripped some writer named Stephanie Meyer to shreds. 

The scratching in the notebook had stopped suddenly and he could see Aziraphale slowly turning now.

“Do I really smell that much like hellfire and general evil?” Crowley asked, sauntering out of his hidden place as a way of greeting. He lifted his arms and sniffed repeatedly at his armpits. “Or bad cologne? I was curious about the new Versace, really my bad then. I knew it was too much.” 

“Crowley….” Aziraphale had turned in his chair and closed the notebook he had been writing in. His eyes were...doing odd things, Crowley had decided. He looked happy and yet in pain, at the same time. He was smiling in greeting as he usually did when he saw Crowley but there was a staleness to it. “I didn’t hear the car.”

“I decided to just pop in. I needed gas and you’re always telling me about time respecting and all that hogwash so here I am.” Crowley’s arms waved dramatically as he stepped directly in front of the sitting angel. “You wanna do the Ritz?” 

“Let’s not!” Aziraphale’s voice went up an octave and he stood up abruptly. Crowley could see the other being’s chest swell from underneath all of those layers of vests he seemed to always have on. “Let’s try something new. I’m sure there’s somewhere that’s agreeable for both of us in walking distance.”

“Or I could miracle us somewhere outside of Soho - “

“Let’s not!” The angel quickly stepped away from the demon and closer to his desk. He started shuffling through the papers, muttering something about a flyer left at the door. 

Crowley put his hands on his hips and watched. 

Something was up. 

“Oh why not. Downstairs doesn’t care what I do personally and I know you have been to most places around here. Unless...there’s some other reason you think we should stay in Soho...?” He asked. 

“Oh no particular reason,” Aziraphale continued digging through papers with his head down to the point it sounded as if he was talking to his own chest. 

“You sure, angel?”

Aziraphale paused his shuffling of papers and turned back to face his friend. “How about somewhere not in the ‘city’ city?”

“What do you have against the city all of a sudden? That’s literally your number one pick outside of the Ritz.”

“It would be loud. And not as walkable.”

The eyebrows seemed to get higher and higher. Though his eyes were not as visible behind his glasses, he was certain Aziraphale could see his clear facial expression of ‘I-know-you’re-lying-angel-but-I’ll-wait-until-lunch-to-confront-you-about-this’.

“Fine - there’s a sushi place called the Sexy Fish in Berkeley Square that opens at noon I think you would like. I can miracle us near by and we can walk over.”

“But you don’t like the smell of soy sauce...”.

“Ahhhh,” the demon waved one of his arms in dismissal, “I’ll be fine for an hour or two. I’ll shove wasabi up my nose or something,” He stretched out the previously waving arm out to the angel. “Sexy Fish then?” He wagged his eyebrows playfully as he said the restaurant name again. 

His companion tutted in disapproval at the mischief before linking his arm into the demon’s offered elbow. 

And then they were in Mayfair, at a park supposedly close to Berkeley Square. They were standing directly under a tree, arms still linked. 

Crowley casually unhooked their arms and took a minute to brush invisible dust from his pants. 

“Enough of a walk for you?”

“Perfect!” For the first time that day, the angel turned to face him and smiled happily. Crowley kept his responding facial expression to an appropriate demonic smirk. 

“Lovely,” he murmured. He started heading towards Berkeley Square, Aziraphale walking swiftly next to him. 

“The sun is so lovely today,” the angel was smiling fondly, looking around in general holy glee. 

“Well that's London for you this time of year.” Crowley replied, nose tilted upward as he spoke. 

“I thought it was supposed to rain yesterday…”

“It didn't. Didn't you hear it - or rather - not hear it?”

“I was in the shop all week.”

“All week?!” It was highly unusual for the bookshop keeper to not lunch or dinner somewhere ridiculous everyday. Him staying in could easily interpreted as a sign of end times. “You didn't go out?”

“Well no…”

“Ok, angel. You've got to stop this already.”. The demon continued walking on the pavement but turned his head fully to his friend. “If we weren't in public, I would take off my glasses to properly glare you down but seriously - what is it?”

“What is what?” His voice sounded innocent enough but the angel’s eyes had gone frantic. 

“What is it with you? Something's clearly wrong.” He nodded for them to turn left and after glancing around for safety, went back to what he was saying. “You didn't come for water at 2 in the morning at my place and I found your copy of Paradise Lost underneath my chair the other day with the bookmark still on page 20. You never stop reading a book for more than a day and you never run out of La Croix because you always miracle more or ask me to get some at the shop for you!”

Aziraphale’s cheeks burned red and he looked down at the pavement they were walking on in silence.

“Look - I don't mind you visiting. You know that. It's just that and this staying in all week thing. And you not wanting to go to the Ritz without me begging you - please tell me what's going on?”

Silence. 

“I don't mind getting you new flavors of La Croix from the shop either,” Crowley's tone had gone soft in an attempt to get his friend to look him properly in the face. “Other than coconut really.”

The only answering sound was shoes on pavement.

“Is it demons? Or is it angels - are they bothering you or something?”

“No.” The blonde finally answered, though he kept his face down. 

“Okaaaaaay. That's good.”

“It's…..nothing-”

“Don't give me that bullocks when-”

“It's nothing you need to worry about now. If you do need to worry about it, I will tell you.” His voice was steady then, as if he had rehearsed telling Crowley those exact words. 

“Angel.”

“Please drop it.” He looked up then, his eyes doing that funny happy and sad dance again. “Please.”

Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets in frustration. “I don't like this.”

Ignoring the statement entirely, Aziraphale asked, “What's on the menu on this place anyways?”

And thus started a conversation about miso chilean sea bass and quail egg yolk that lasted the entire walk that Crowley tried his best to appear enthused about. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm getting there I swear


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sexy Fish is an actual place in London - never been to England at all, just a regular old American with Google and some stretches taken. They have some cool decor - at least I think so.

There had miraculously been a free table in the back by the time they arrived so they were walked through the restaurant on the way to their seats. Both the angel and him were distracted by the decor the entire way over.

“Sexy,” Crowley breathed as they passed the bar. 

Like most of the establishment’s atmosphere, the bar was dramatically elegant. Behind the wall of alcoholic bottles was a never ending cascade of water that a person could clearly see as they sat during some surely overpriced cocktail. Above was a white ornate art piece of a group of swimming fish, almost hugging each other. Each fish was about the size of ¾ of a hellhound, Crowley had thought. The best feature, in his mind, however, was a blue statue of a topless female mermaid literally planted at the edge of the bar edge. Tail resting in a U shape on the warm brown top of the bar, the mermaid appeared to be holding her own chin with one hand and extending her other arm skyward. Her hair was slicked back at her head and then sprayed out to almost wet looking tendrils. Whatever stone was, it glistened a bright electric blue with thin clouds of deep blue spread over her whole body. 

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale had said instead. 

Their waiter had started saying something about the decor’s artists but Crowley paid no attention to the lecture. He simply continued looking around at the place. It was dimly lit with modern jazzy music playing in the background among the chatter of a full house. It reeked of seafood but it wasn’t so bad when he bit the inside of his lip. 

“And here you are, sirs.” The waiter nodded towards the one empty table in the entire restaurant. There were two menus and glasses of ice water neatly set for each seat. 

“Thank you so much!” Aziraphale had replied back with much enthusiasm. It seemed the anticipation of lunch had done the trick of lightened the angel’s mood. Crowley sat down without much note to the waiter, and watched Aziraphale lazily.

The angel had grabbed the menu and was flipping through it with the vigor one might expect him to have reading the Bible. 

“Any good drinks?” Crowley asked. He didn’t bother opening his menu. He usually just let Aziraphale do the reading. 

“They have quite the selection of Japanese whiskey - oh you should try the...the Ghetto Flip.” He frowned. “I don’t like the name but it has Hibiki Japanese whiskey, banana, pistachio and-“

“Sounds lovely.”

“Oh they have such interesting cocktails…though I do like a good old fashioned.” The blonde continued to deliberate his many menu choices half to himself and half to his lunch companion. Crowley had melted into his usual position for the menu deliberation segment of all lunch meetings; he rested both of his elbows on the table and cradled his chin in his hands. 

A good twenty minutes later, Aziraphale was ordering for both of them far too energetically. The demon had just heard the mentions of “soft crab”, “chunky tuna tartare” “king crab and bone marrow”, “wagyu tataki”, and “could we get the chef’s selection of 8 with some imperial caviar because that sounds positively delightful.” 

The waiter turned to Crowley. “Is there anything else I get you sir?”

“No, he picked everything for me already.” He pulled out a hand from under his chin and waved it at the woman dismissively. “I’ll let you know if I want something later.” 

“Thank you!” Aziraphale had shouted as the waiter scurried off. He gave Crowley a look. “Don’t be rude.” 

“That wasn’t rude! I was being honest.”

The other being just sniffed but didn’t push the subject any further. “It is a nice place though.” He said, looking up the artwork in the ceiling in wonder.

“Told you. Yelp had four pound signs on it so I figured it would be good and expensive.” 

“Yelp?”

“It’s...it’s like a website where people review restaurants, massages, doctors - lots of things. They tell you if they liked the place, if they take reservations, how expensive it is. All the good stuff. You would probably like it,” Crowley stopped holding his chin and leaned back into the chair. “Wait - you should be a Yelper!”

“Yelper? That sounds painful…”

“No, no. They are blokes that go to places and get free food for saying nice things about establishments on the website. You could eat wherever you want and get free food!” He was waving his hands again as he spoke. 

“But what if I don’t like the food?”

“Well you could say that too, I think. Maybe do it after you leave though…” Crowley looked up at the ceiling in thought. “You could be a food blogger. I think those are still a thing...or maybe it’s all on Instagram now, I’m not sure.”

“Instagram? I heard a customer complain about it once. They were one of those that was very angry that there was no wifi in the bookshop. I mean really - wireless internet in a bookshop. Why do you need to be on Instagram if you are in a book shop? 

Crowley shrugged. 

“I don’t like wifi - don’t start this argument again,” the angel added, seeing his comrade start opening his mouth. “I know how you feel about wifi; we have been over this.”

“Wifi is amazing, angel and you need to see the light.” It was an old argument but not one that either of them was willing to budge on. “You remember dial up? Dialup was such a pain. Made people sinning a lot more common though - print porngraphy sales,” The demon made a diagonal raising motion with his right arm and a whooshing noise. “But you like the internet for the baking and interior decorating stuffs. You have a pinterest board dedicated to ceiling molding for Hell’s sake. With wifi, you can look at all the moldingbin the world not just from an old chair stuck in a corner.”

“Yes, but there’s a time and a place for internet time. I have a strict ‘no internet time’ near the books. It makes them feel insecure.” 

“Makes them feel insecure,” Crowley just muttered in response. “Mmmm yeah wouldn’t want that.”

“Yes, the first edition dictionaries have just been-“ it looked like Aziraphale had more to say before something behind Crowley seemed to grab his attention. 

“What is it? You look like you’re pretending to be a fish with that mouth thing you’re doing.” Crowley looked over his sunglasses at the other being, the smallest of his yellow eyes visible.

“Don’tlookbuttheresagroupofpriestsrightbehindyouohmyohmy.” 

“What? What’s behind me?” Crowley started to turn.

“Don’t! I just told you don’t!” The demon stopped midway and looked back to Aziraphale questioningly. 

“You said it along with a bunch of other words. What is behind me?”

“Priests,” the other being had all be hissed. “Keep your voice down.”

“Okaaaaay.” 

“Don’t look, don’t breathe.”

“That’s rather dramatic…”

“Just…”

“I don’t see the cause for alarm, angel. I don’t look like a demon to them; I look like an unemployed delinquent that is part of a band that plays crappy gigs at dives on Thursday nights.” He tilted his head to the right. “Maybe Tuesdays with the sunglasses.”

“It’s just - “. His eyes were doing the half panic thing again and Crowley was reminded of all the other random behavior he had been displaying over the last week. 

“Priests have to eat sushi too. There’s not a new commandment against fish intake, is there?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well then…” Crowley’s head tilted back where it was before. “I think they are decent enough to eat a few tables away from us - or however far they are, since I can’t  _ see _ .”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale’s voice had turned that weird steady tone from the walk. As if he was trying to convince himself of the words he was saying. “Nothing wrong.”

“We have drank at the bar with a demon hunter in the 17th century and you bought her damn drinks, you do remember that, don’t you?” Crowley did. He had been pissed at their company at first but when the woman had pulled out three bulbs of garlic from her hat, he had calmed down a tad and had far less concern for his safety at the time.

“Yes…” Aziraphale replied back quietly. 

“So...relax, yeah?”

“Yes. Relax.” Aziraphale placed a hand on the table and stared at it, as his hand was the one accompanying him to dinner. “Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you been to any churches lately?” He managed to ask in the most posed conversational tone yet, with minimal eyebrow movement. 

“What!?”

“Never mind. Oh look, drinks!” 

Indeed, the waiter had swiftly come back with a carefully balanced tray of various glasses. She placed the old fashioned in front of Aziraphale and a glass with some sort of white blended drink in front of Crowley. He wiggled his nose at the edge of the glass before taking a large, inelegant gulp. 

At least compared to the angel, who was sipping his drink with a pinky up. His eyes widened as the liquid burned down his throat. “Refreshing, wouldn’t you say?”

Crowley jerked his head a bit as he brought his glass back up to his lips. “What’s this about churches? Anything to do with your sudden intense fear of priests?” He finally said after another sip, waving his glass in a circular motion. “Late night water runs?”

“Nooooooo.” Aziraphale seems more confident now with his few sips of alcohol, per usual. His mouth fell into an easy smile as he finally looked away from his hand to Crowley. “Must you focus so much on it?”

“Yes because you don’t like being barefoot.”

“What does that have to do with….”

“Excuse me?” An older man with a roman collar and well pressed black suit had nervously walked over to Aziraphale’s left side from behind and now was hovering near his shoulder. He started reaching into his suit pocket when the angel aggressively shifted his chair away from the stranger. 

“Yes, we do mind. You will not harm my friend!“ He stood up, in a theatrical fashion that an instance of a life threatening situation would have been rather heart-warming. There was a faint glow of light on the being’s back as his wings threatened to open wide. “Your narrow views on-“

“Angel…” Crowley said quickly, his eyes behind his glasses looking between the priest and the angel utterly puzzled.

The human man’s hand had not stopped, despite the order. His hand had resurfaced with a smartphone in it. The man still was looking at Aziraphale, a soft look in his eyes. “I have no trouble with your lifestyle, son. I was just going to ask if you could take a picture of my brothers and I.” His voice had a thick Southern American accent that seemed too typical. “I’m horrible with this slick thing. I can find someone else however-“

“I can take it.” Crowley set down his drink and extended his now free hand open palmed and towards the holy man. “No worries.” He glanced at Aziraphale in question but the angel had sat back down and was starting at his drink as if it was the only thing in the room that mattered.

The phone felt itchy in his hand when the man handed it over. Holiness tended to do that. But the demon went over to the table of holy men and took a few pictures. It had been a large table of seven human men, all wearing roman collars. Crowley had just nodded when he handed the phone back, trying his best to avoid skin to skin contact. “Peace be with you.” The table of men had murmured in thanks.

“And also with you.” Crowley had breathed in the lowest of voices. His throat felt tight as he whispered the words. He rubbed it as he headed back to his table. As he walked, he took note of his friend’s appearance. His old fashioned drink was empty and Aziraphale was sitting in a stiff proper way, his hands gathered and rested directly in front of him. He was looking down at them. He was the very image of shame.

“Angel,” Crowley’s voice was soft as he sat back down. He placed his hands on the table, across from Aziraphale’s. His fingers barely reached out for the other being’s hands. They were centimeters away but the demon did not dare touch the distressed angel. “Angel, please say something.”

“I saw you die.”

“What?”

“I.....I saw them take you away screaming and you,” Aziraphale looked up and Crowley was not surprised by how watery his eyes looked, “you melted away!"

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This is horrible but I’m still going….ok maybe not horrible. 
> 
> I've been writing in this new, carefree way with this fic - I'm normally more….strict I would say. Or take more time with scenes but it's been more fun for me as a writer this new way so far but part of me feels guilty for the fun if that makes any sense - either way thanks for coming along on the ride.


	4. Chapter 4

“You saw me melt…”

“I’ve been researching for days if it is possible for an angel to also be a prophet. I’m fairly certain it is possible - I mean technically Mormoni could possibly be considering in a category-  
“  
“Isn’t the whole point of prophets that they are humans that have messages from God?” Crowley’s face scrunched up. “And you’re an angel. So you are already a messenger of God…”

“Crowley, you are not helping!”

“What - wasn’t that your question?”

Aziraphale’s eyes were less close to tears of sadness and now seemed closer to frustration. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure if that was better but he would settle for his angel not looking not as ripped apart.

“Ok, so you saw a...vision...of me. Priests took me away and I was melting.” He said slowly, trying his best not to sound so skeptical.

“It all looked so real. You had your glasses and they took them off and stepped on them and they got all dented on the floor and you looked so frighteningly sad and then you got angry and turned one of them into a frog-”

“Where was this?”

“One time was in the Ritz and the other time was that tea place we tried in the city awhile back. At least I think so, the background got all funny when they grabbed you the second time. I don’t even know how we ended up there in the first place, we just kind of appeared…and I couldn’t perform any miracles! They called me a demon sympathist.” The angel went silent after the explosion of speech and looked back down at the table.

“You couldn’t perform miracles? But that’s impossible.”

“Yes, I am aware!”

Crowley paused and then took on a rather military stance by leaning forward and placing both hands palms down on the table. “Where were you when you were having these visions? What time of day was it? Have you met any prophets recently?”

“Saturday and Sunday night...and I was in bed at the time. I haven’t met any prophets recently. The usual occasional witch or Satanists.”

“Why were you in bed? You’re never in bed. You don’t even have a bed.”

“Oh?”

“Zira….”

“I was just taking a nap.”

“Nap? You hate sleeping.”

Aziraphale puffed up at that statement. “I was just trying something new. You are always gushing about how great sleep is that I just - thought I would give it a try.”

“Well you should-”

“So I did!” The angel now had his arms across his chest and his nose pointed more upward than usual in defiance.

Dots were beginning to connect to Crowley.

“...did you have your vision while you were sleeping?”

“Hmm - it’s possible. The timing could have been off perhaps…”

“Angel, you had a nightmare, not a vision.”

“Beings don’t get nightmares. So it has to be a vision, Crowley, I am telling you that they are coming for you and we have to prepare the shop. Maybe-”

“Your dishes, sirs.” The waiter appeared to have materialized out of nowhere with three plates covered in various pieces of seafood and disappeared just as fast. Crowley quickly pulled his hands off of the table and leaned back into his chair. Meanwhile, Zira’s statement died in his lips as he stared longingly at the extravagant food display.

“Oh look at that uni!” Zira practically squeezed as he reached for one of the chopstick sets. As he picked up a single sushi piece, he brought his attention back to Crowley. “You should have some.”

Crowley didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he wordlessly grabbed the other set of chopsticks, and popped uni sushi in his mouth with ease. Instantly, his mouth was bombarded with the essense of salt water and fish. He chewed methodically. Waiting.

Zira had two more pieces of sushi, during which his demeanor seemed to improve, whether thanks to the sushi or his earlier confession, Crowley was not sure. The angel’s cheeks were a bit puffed like a chipmunk, as he spoke again, rice still floating around his mouth.

“We cannot go to the Ritz anymore, we need to re-enforce the back and front doors of the bookshop and-”

“Angel, you had a nightmare.” Crowley’s voice had a low, serious tone to it. He reached over for his drink as he continued. “You had a repeating nightmare, it’s a fairly common thing for sleepers, really.”

“We can’t have nightmares, Cro-”

“I have nightmares.”

Aziraphale stopped picking at the pickled ginger on one of the plates and looked at the demon with a hint of concern.

“You have nightmares?”

The demon adjusted his sunglasses to fully cover his eyes again. “Yes. Happened more during the whole not-the-end-of-the-world business when I would try to sleep. Drowning in holy water, you burning in hell fire, both of us being discorporated in the strangest of ways, wings falls off, all the rum being gone…” Crowley threw his head back a little as he took a gulp of his drink. “Been a week and a half since my last nightmare. That’s the best record yet.”

“You have these….these sleep visions regularly?”

“Oh yeaaaaaah. Ever since the whole sauntering downway business. The Anti-Christ time was more stressful though. Could be PTSD though, not sure if beings can have that sort of thing…” He mumbled almost unintelligently into his drink.

“And none of them came to pass?” Aziraphale asked softly, gazing now fully into his friend’s darkened lens.

“Well we are still here, still got wings and there’s still rum so.” Crowley shrugged. For some reason, the shrug had felt harder than usual to do. His shoulders felt heavy. He tried to ignore the feeling. “Anyways, nightmares are hell. Don’t know why God made them a thing. Could make one good thing like dreams without something horrible to soil it for all the humans.” he took another sip of his drink. “Now dreams - dreams are bloody smashing.”

“I’ve read about dreams...and nightmares but never thought I could have one.” Aziraphale said almost contemplatively. He continued looking at Crowley. “...so I had a nightmare?”

“Yes, angel.”

“So they are not coming to end your existence and we can go to the Ritz.”

Crowley’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “We could leave for it right now if you want.”

Zira shook his head. “No, I quite like this place. It’s just that - the sleep vision seemed so real.” His head tilted as he continued looking into the lens opposite of him. “You said you have nightmares often. How come you never told me about them? You were always talking about how lovely sleeping was.”

“It is lovely and nightmares aren’t supposed to be that often. Plus, the nightmares bit was the worst right after the sauntering and then the Anti Christ stuff. Anti Christ was a hectic time; couldn’t exactly sit down for tea to talk about daily nightmares with you, could I?”

“Daily?”

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “And when I first got them after the sauntering...I thought,” he took a breath, “it was just a demon thing. Part of the punishment or something. Went on for a century or so before I found some ways to ease them up.” He paused. “And I didn’t think angels could have nightmares. Didn’t seem right, you being holy and all. I’m sorry you had them.” The last part was said in that soft low voice Crowley seemed to reserve for rare occasions.

“Oh Crowley, I wish you told me,” Aziraphale reached across the table with his hand that wasn’t still holding chopsticks and placed it palm down, closer to the demon. Crowley wasn’t much of a hand holder but Zira couldn’t help wanting to make some sort of gesture. “Nightmares seem so terrible to deal with on your own. I mean...clearly I did not do the best job attempting to cope and that was just a few days.”

“Well if you have had told me, perhaps you wouldn’t have yelled at a group of holy priests over sushi.”

Zira sighed. “I supposed we both could have told each other.”

Crowley inhaled deep, to the point of his chest nudging the table. He exhaled slowly before nodding. “Yeah, we could have told each other some things I suppose.”

The angel put down his chopsticks and reached for his drink that he has been neglecting for the past hour. He raised it up towards Crowley with a smile and eyes that glistening in a way the demon had never once been able to describe. “To telling each other things?”

Crowley reached out a hand to grab his drink and clinked the almost empty glass against Aziraphale’s. “And to hell with nightmares.” He said before downing the rest of the liquid.

There was a space of twelve minutes where Aziraphale fell back into gushing about and eating sushi and Crowley answering with quiet hums before a question crossed the demon’s mind.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why were you in my apartment in the middle of the night again?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked up from the handroll he had been inspecting. His cheeks were a light pink. “I was ah - checking on you. I thought...the second time it happened, I - I wanted to check on you.” His eyes went back down to the roll.

Crowley’s right eyebrow raised behind his glasses and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his neck.

“I saw you melt away in a pool of holy water, screaming.” He said in a lower voice, his breathing growing faster in pace. “I had to check.”

“Angel.”

“I _had_ to check.”

Crowley paused, eyes shifting to Zira’s left hand that was still resting on top of the table. It was trembling, the fingers pulling together into a fist.

The demon outstretched his right hand and rested the tips of his fingers over the angel’s white knuckles. Zira jumped a bit at the touch before looking back into Crowley’s lens.

“I’m still here,” Crowley murmured, moving his head so his sunglasses would slide down his nose. His yellow eyes seemed to burn into Zira’s. Zira found he didn’t mind.

“I know. It was silly -”

“Nonsense.” Crowley replied, pulling his fingers back but leaving his hand resting next to Zira’s. “S’not silly.”

Looking back at the demon with his face still an embarrassed shade of pink, Aziraphale just nodded silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I HAVE A PLAN STILL I SWEAR BUT I HAD TO WRITE SOME MORE ANGST and fluff ugh I’m sorry I made Crowley soft-er than usual ughhhh


	5. Chapter 5

After the sushi lunch, things seems to get back to normal. As normal as life of a demon and angel living in the mortal world after the Non-Apocalypse could be, Crowley thought. 

He had been lazily lounging on the couch in the backroom of the shop one afternoon. He had left himself in of course. His torso propped in the corner of a couch arm, the demon had let his legs spread excessively over the rest of the piece of furniture. In his right hand, he nursed a glass of whiskey as his left hand was buried in the couch seat, holding on to his cell phone. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes were closed. As he swayed the glass in the air, he could hear the shuffling of people outside the store, the vibration of cars on the street, and the light snore of Zira deeper in the shop. 

He licked his lips, inhaling the sting of the alcohol. 

Zira had been sleeping since he had crept into the shop at 7 PM. Crowley supposed humans would leave or try to wake up their friend. Or read a book in the bookshop to pass the time at least. 

But Crowley was a demon. And none of those things were very demon like. 

Getting wasted on whiskey for two hours. Very demon like. 

Crowley was about two miracled whiskey bottle deep when he faintly started to hear the rustling of sheets. He attempted to get up only to feel the sudden great weight of his body violently throw him back into the leather. 

“Zira?” He mumbled, feeling the liquid in the glass splash on his hands as he found himself being lowered back into the couch. “You finally awake?”

More shuffling. 

“Nhmm.”

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice cracked at his own shout. He could hear the most faint of what sounded like mumbling. 

“Nughhh.” The angel’s voice was decidingly louder than before, at least to snake ears. 

“Satan, I hate legs,” Crowley grumbled, feeling very much like a turtle on its back as he continued to struggle getting up from the couch, glass in one hand, phone in the other. “They’re so long and….leggy.” It also did not particularly help that for the past half hour, the demon had been scrolling through instagram, looking at very very tanned long legs through his sunglasses, which naturally made them darker. “Tan, leggy, long, so looooong. Ah, screw this!”

He stretched his hand to set the glass on the floor and used what felt like the last of his upper body strength to shove his phone in his back jean pocket. The demon then started sliding his body downward towards the floor, his knees bending and starting to touch said ground. A pop later and his snake form landed on the floor with a thud. Immediately, Crowley felt a sense of relief. 

Less limbs was always better when whiskey was involved, he thought. He started slithering towards the sounds and the breathing of the other being. His tongue flicked in the air as he headed over. He could taste the old dust that constantly hovered in the shop as well as Zira’s sweat...from what he wasn’t sure. Heading towards where the sweat seemed the strongest, the snake found himself at a darkened threshold. He was surprised that there was no door involved. 

As he entered what appeared to be an miracled bedroom, he was reminded of his own apartment. 

The floor had dramatically changed from dark wood to a cool cement. The walls were a typical grey as well. No windows, not that his eyes required that much light in this form. But there were no windows, a coldness in the air that seemed very familiar and the most minimal bedpost his snake eyes had ever seen...outside of his own. Aziraphale laid in the middle of a queen sized mattress, simply twisting and turning on top of the black sheets. He was dressed in his usual, shoes and all, at least from the shoes and bit of slacks Crowley could see from his angle. 

“Hmmmm!” A high pitched, certainly stressed noise seemed to escape the angel’s lips. 

“Zzzzzzziraaaaaa,” Crowley hissed before shaking his snake head back and forth aggressively. A moment later, he was back to his lanky human self, his sunglasses miracled back on to his face with little effort. The drunk feeling was duller but still made his limbs heavy.

Taller now, he could see that the other being seemed to be having a sleeping fit. Fully dressed, the angel was lying on the bed without a blanket, and a singular pillow underneath his turning head. 

The demon softly stepped closer to the bed, his face now frozen in a mask of confusion. Seemed to be happening a lot lately, he felt.

He started leaning his face closer to the angel’s, trying to see if his friend was truly sleeping. The tip of his nose was barely touched Zira’s cheek when the angel let out another soft cry. His eyelashes twitched back and forth, his eyelid veins seeming more pronounced than usual. Deciding it was not in fact some sort of sleeping prank, Crowley carefully whispered, “Wakie waaaakie, angel.”

Aziraphale’s lips stopped shifting at the sound. But his eyes reminded closed. 

“Aziraphaaaale. Aziraphale, wake up.” The demon looked up and down at the sleeping figure. “I really don’t want to shake you awake, it really is the worst way to wake up. At least from that one time, I woke up in Pompelli. Or the London Fire - I don’t know why God just doesn’t let a demon get proper sleep.” His voice slowly shifted from whispering to his normal tone. He watched as Aziraphale’s nose twitched and his breathing quickened. “You awake?”

“Hmmm yes.” There was a pause, as Aziraphale shifted his body from lying on his back to lying on his side, his face facing Crowley but eyes still closed. 

A moment later, the angel’s eyes popped out in shock. “Crowley?!”

Satisfied that Zira was awake, his mouth curled into a smirk. “Morning, sunshine. The earth says hello.”

“The earth what?”

“Johnny Depp and Oliver reference. 2005 Willy Wonka. God, they gave him a good wig…”

“How did you-”

“Slithered on in,” Crowley was grinning now, taking the opportunity to point finger guns at the disgruntled angel still in bed. “You really should get a dooooooor.” He found himself swaying slightly. Perhaps a bad decision on finger guns when mildly plastered, he thought.

Aziraphale was pulling himself upwards in a sitting position, his elbows making noticeable divots in his white bedsheets. “You don’t have a door,” he mumbled. 

“I don’t like enclosed spaces. But you like them.” Crowley still stood next to the bed, his hands now behind his back.

“I suppose...Why did you wake me up exactly?”

“You were having a nightmare...”

Aziraphale blinked owlishly. “A nightmare…”

“You don’t remember?”

“No...should I remember?”

The demon shrugged. “Depends on the day, the time, the feeling. Doesn’t matter if you remember or not usually though. Least not to me.”

“How did you know?”

“You were ah…ah making noooooises.”

“Noises?”

Crowley shrugged again. “Nothing crazy. Just didn’t seem like you were having a good tiiiiime was all. Plus it’s boring to drink whiskey alone after the 3rd hour. Only the 3rd though, the 4th can be decent if it’s vodkaaaaa.” He was making drink motions with his hands with unnecessary gusto. 

“You’re drunk.”

“Mmmmm very drunk yesssss.” Crowley replied in a low voice. Then suddenly his head popped up in excitement. “You want whiskey?!”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley in quiet thought. “Yes...yes I think I would.”

  
  



End file.
